“You know—Great Uncle Bruce? Merit’s great-uncle?” Pete said.
“Oh? Your sister is Prudence?” Maybe he’d change the contract. Maybe cancel it? “I like her.”
Campbell nodded. “Everybody likes Pru. Nice to meet you too, Amalia. My sister told me about Uncle Bruce when I was, ah…laid up.” He grimaced and waved a hand at the cane.
“I’m afraid I…I haven’t had time to clean much.”
“It’s not that bad.” Merit faced her again. “You were writing something?”
Amalia stared at him, feeling jittery, as though in the company of a circus tiger—trained, but unpredictable. “I was?”
He pointed at her mini clipboard.
“Oh, right. My pen ran out of…thank you.” She took the pen he pulled out of his pocket and offered. What had she been writing? She scribbled on the paper. What, she had no idea. “So, you’re a missionary. That must be so interesting,” Amalia said. She held her polite company smile even as the ridiculous-sounding words fell out of her mouth, and wished she had come down with laryngitis that morning.
Merit’s mouth pursed. “Yes, and usually. When they’re not bombing my clinic and trying to kill me.”
Pete jumped in. “Our friend, here, got caught in the middle of a tribal firefight in Nehrangestan, and he’s home to recover. It was on the news, remember? And in the last newsletter. The clinic?”
Amalia froze in shock. She glared at Pete then reached for a nearby chair. “I’m so sorry. You were wounded? Are you in pain? Do you want to sit down?”
“Thank you. I’m fine.” Merit turned away from them both to examine the sideboard.
Amalia nodded, unsure what exactly to say. She was much better with a death in the family, not…the wounded. “I’m sorry for your loss, Reverend Campbell. Your uncle had a good send-off, rest assured. He’ll be missed. Are you in town long? Prudence directed me to put the house on the market. Most everything from inside had been sold in the auction six months ago. Bruce said he wanted to watch who got what.” She smiled at the memory.
“That sounds like him. Please, call me Merit.” He grinned. “I don’t go by ‘Reverend’ much. I also heard he’d had a first funeral?”
“Sure, sure, excellent story,” Pete said. “We’ll tell you all about it. Merit’s visiting Illinois, Amalia, to see where his uncle is buried and to meet you.”
“Me?” Meet her? Pete could not mean that personally. Mr. Campbell’s missionary nephew would not have any interest in meeting her. Unless he had some problem with the estate. Ah. She’d let him bring it up. During the ensuing silence, Amalia wondered what would happen if she stuck her other foot in her mouth. Her buddy Pete helped not at all. She narrowed her eyes and felt like poking out her tongue at him for letting her flounder. He grinned and rocked on his heels as though he found the whole scene entertaining.
Merit. Such an unusual name. Did it run in his family? Gregarious, outgoing Pete did not stand much on formality.
She watched Merit wander into the small downstairs bedroom off the kitchen. She cocked her head at Pete. “Did you want me to show you around? Or, maybe you can? I have an appointment.”
Pete shook his head. “No, thanks. We won’t keep you.”
Merit returned. “Thank you for the work you did on behalf of my family.”
Amalia kept up the smile despite the flush she felt creeping from her cheeks toward her throat. He really was an intriguing man, and she wished she had more time to talk to him. If she could say anything halfway intelligent through the bouts of nervous chatter. He was a client and deserved her respect. “My honor,” she said, and swallowed. She peeked at her watch. “I’m glad to have met you, Merit. Pastor can put you in touch with me if you’d like to talk later. Shall I lock up?”
“Sure, go ahead.” Pete followed her to the front porch. “It was good to see you. You and Merit have to get together some time, catch up on stories.”
Merit inclined his curly head before he limped away.
Amalia doubted they’d have anything else to say to each other as she turned the deadbolt and pocketed the key. There were only so many ways to act like an unprofessional idiot and short of laughing at a client, she’d pretty much shown them all. Feeling as though she’d been in the sun too long, light-headed and faintly nauseous, she hoped she’d get through her appointment with a potential new client without making more of an idiot of herself.
* * *
All that evening and the next morning, memories of the dark-haired woman with the deep, expressive eyes Merit had met at Uncle Bruce’s house hovered at the edge of his consciousness. He and Pete had to leave before he could look through the place. Maybe he could go back after breakfast. She had been nothing at all like old Mrs. Berry, his fourth-grade teacher. She looked younger than even his own twenty-nine harvests, as the Nehrangese counted age. Even a little vulnerable, with that lovely old-fashioned hair style and lace-collared blouse that seemed to suit her perfectly. Every young woman he had come in contact with for the past several years had been well-chaperoned and completely out of consideration as a marriage partner. Which suited Merit Campbell just fine since he’d no intention of complicating his service to God. A wife and children would draw him away from his single-minded dedication to translate Scripture into Nehrangesi and ease both the physical and spiritual life of those wonderfully simple people. Not even the proverbial raven-haired beauty would distract him. Maybe he’d get her out of his system. Yeah, a little exposure as an inoculation. Should do it.
* * *
Pete took a few hours away from the office the next morning as he had evening meetings. He’d been happy to accompany Merit back to the house, and was happily extolling the virtues of not only Fox Falls, the house, and his church, but the owner of The Last Detail. Again.
“I really think she can help you,” Pete said, his voice echoing. “She’s so nice.”
Merit let the screen door close behind him as he went back into the cavernous kitchen with its tiled counters and narrow, high cupboards. “I’m sure she is. She can be as nice as she wants to. Especially when there’s money involved.”
“Amalia’s not like that. And I don’t think she cares much about money. I’ve heard what she charges some of her clients, and I can’t believe she makes anything for the amount of work she puts in. She’s been very sheltered. First, raised by elderly parents who never even set foot outside of the county. Hudson Demarest pretty much told her when to take her next breath. Their businesses sort of run together. He’s the funeral director. But I learned she called off their engagement, even though there wasn’t any real engagement. You’ll have to get used to the way folks think around here. Some of them are still totally medieval.”
“Hold on, my friend. That doesn’t sound like any of my business. Besides, you know I’m headed back to Nehrangestan as soon as I can. No familial complications of any kind, so I’d be delighted if Miss Kennedy and the undertaker marry, live happily ever after and end up in matching crypts.”
Pete puckered his lips.
“Sorry,” Merit said. “I’m a grouch these days.” He watched Pete idly turn on the taps at the old-fashioned bathtub-deep kitchen sink.
“Yeah, I can tell,” Pete said. “Hey, the water looks all right. Hot works, too.”
Merit opened a narrow door which led to a linoleum-shelved walk-in pantry. A few odds and ends of crockery sat on dusty shelves. He turned around to see Pete, arms folded, leaning against the battered wooden table flanked by two much-painted chipped yellow chairs. “I have an idea,” Pete said. “Why don’t you move in here? It’s not that bad. You could use this place as your base while you get treated and go on your speaking assignments.”
Merit opened his mouth, but before he could answer, Pete’s eyes took on a funny unfocused look.
Pete reached into a pocket to pull out and check his cell phone. “Gotta go.” He set the house keys on the table. “Why don’t you think about it? It’s your house, after all. And your sister
’s. I can have Cherie come pick you up if you’d like.”
Merit walked his friend through the house and out to his car. “Cheri’s got enough to do without chauffeuring a stranded missionary. I can call Jerry again.”
“You know Cherie’d love to have you stay with us, too,” Pete said through the open window of the car.
“Thanks, but I know your house is full, and I don’t want to make any more work for Cherie.” Merit looked back at the imposing house. “But maybe you’ve hit on a better solution with this place. I’ll have to think about it, check with Pru. See you later.”
Pete started to drive off, but then backed up with a squeal. He thrust a business card through the open car window into Merit’s hand. “I almost forgot. Here’s Amalia’s card. It has her address and phone number on it. You can stop in any time, I’m sure. Remember, supper with us tomorrow.”
FIVE
Working with Hudson after she dismissed his marriage proposal hadn’t been as awkward as Amalia feared.
She had taken the dining room of her cottage for her office after Hudson remodeled the funeral home last year. One of her latest goals included helping people downsize while they were healthy and could make decisions without feeling pressured or stressed by sudden unexpected life changes. Bruce had been her test case. The downsizing had gone well. Selling the house looked like another story.
Her phone had buzzed quietly while she copied the contract that Mr. and Mrs. Morgan just signed. They had retired a year earlier and were looking for a condo to buy. The thought of moving from their four bedroom home after forty years of marriage had sent them to her.
Amalia showed them out the door then quickly redialed Hudson’s number. “I’m sorry. I had clients,” she explained when he answered.
“So the Morgans were pleased? I told them they would be.” Hudson’s deep voice sounded in her ear.
Amalia hesitated. Hudson meant well, but did he have to be so denigrating? Be grateful. No one else would notice for days if she fell or starved to death or died in her sleep. “I think so. How did the lunch talk go?”
“They were quite impressed with us. I handed out the new brochures. I’m glad you had more printed, my dear.”
“They needed to be updated anyway.” She heard the beep of his other line. “I heard that, Hudson. Why don’t you stop over? We can discuss our next advertising campaign.”
“I’ll do that.” He clicked off.
She would also ask Hudson’s advice about the community talk on Merit’s mission. In the three weeks he’d been gone, she’d thought of him so often, wondering about his ankle, how the campaign to build a new clinic was going, and how she hoped to help by organizing a good program for him.
Hudson met her in the driveway. Once inside, he put a finger behind the collar of his shirt, loosening a button and the tie from around the heavy column of his throat. He had worn one of his pinstripes for his luncheon presentation that afternoon. Amalia handed him a glass of water.
“We also had a fair interest in our pre-planning program,” Hudson said with some satisfaction. “Very good suggestion, my dear.”
Some of the tension in her shoulders eased. She had worked hard to convince him that making a personal presentation to the various social organizations of their north central Illinois community would put a softer face on an often frightening time of life. They had occasionally presented their services together, but not today.
He seemed to know everyone in LaSalle County even better than she did. After all, he was the third generation Demarest in the funeral business and had taken care of many of the local families. “What do you know about the Campbells?”
“Bruce?” he asked. “You’re having trouble with the house, I understand.”
Amalia inhaled sharply. “I don’t know why you would think that. No. It seems Merit Campbell, the missionary, is Bruce’s nephew. I met him last month when Pete brought him to the house.”
Hudson didn’t like surprises. “I didn’t see any other family besides the niece at the funeral.” He knit his solid brow over his narrowed eyes. “I never met Bruce Campbell’s brother and that family. He left Fox Falls before my time. Will he interfere with the sale?”
“No. I’m sure he won’t. In fact, I wanted to ask you what you thought about renting the auditorium for his talk.”
“That’s quite large. I don’t know how suitable a venue that would be.”
Amalia nodded. Although she hoped for more support, she wasn’t surprised at his attitude. “I’ll think about it some more, then.” On a whim, she said, “I’m going for a walk out to Mattheissen. Want to join me?” Mattheissen State Park and the nearby park, Starved Rock, had some of Amalia’s favorite hiking trails. Today, being mid-week, the park would be free of the usual crowds. She wanted to get her blood moving.
Hudson frowned. “I have some paperwork to catch up on this afternoon, and I’m expecting a family call any time. Mr. Richards is not well.”
“Sure, I understand.” They spent a few more minutes checking the tear sheets from the newspaper ads they’d ordered for the next month. Amalia then walked Hudson to his car.
Back inside the little white bungalow she had shared with her elderly parents until their deaths, Amalia slipped out of her heels and let her hair out of its roll. She no longer had the urge to drive to the park. The backyard called to her instead. This was the only home she’d ever known. Content to stay here as the single occupant, Amalia could identify every creak of settling, the noise of every appliance, the story behind every dish and picture.
Amalia flipped on the computer to check her messages before changing clothes. Comprised of this house, Fox Falls, and La Salle County, her world comforted and completed her. She had been as far as Chicago a couple of times. The city had been intriguing, so large she knew she wouldn’t go back alone. There were plenty of activities in her area of the state; plenty of people who needed help right here. Was it possible she could find more to do there than write checks to missions, like Merit’s clinic?
Late afternoon sunshine beckoned. She did a quick flip through the mail and skimmed the headlines of the Gazette before she grabbed her gardening gloves and went out to weed for an hour. Amalia’s mother had kept her little hem of a yard glowing peonies and all manner of summer blooms. Amalia pruned the roses and put them to bed during the mild winters and released them in the spring. Her favorite annuals went in by the plat—geraniums and begonias and impatiens.
After eating supper and cleaning up, Amalia was halfway through the newspaper when Hudson called.
“I’ve been asking around about that missionary.”
Amalia wrinkled her nose and sputtered. “Why would you do something like that? He’s a friend of the Thompson’s, as well as the medical missionary we’ve supported over the past few years. Pete said they’d been in school together, and he’s a minister. Honestly, Hudson, what are you worried about?”
“I have every reason to be concerned, my dear. Reputation is everything in our business. Everything. One word of any impropriety, any hint of scandal, and we’re ruined for generations to come. Demarest Funeral and Cremation Services enjoys a finely cultivated standing in Fox Falls, one my parents, and theirs before them, sacrificed to maintain. As one of your major benefactors, that reputation also benefits The Last Detail. You must understand that a woman alone running a business like yours can easily become the butt of many jokes.”
Not this again. Amalia sat back and sighed as loud as she could into the phone. “I don’t agree. I’ve taken my parents’ business as you took yours. I’ve expanded in financial planning. I have my own reputation. You know my calendar’s booked all summer.” She took a deep breath and tried to still her bouncing foot.
“Please don’t misunderstand me, my dear. I merely point out that once we’re married, The Last Detail will easily mesh with Demarest. But until then, every precaution must be taken.”
She continued to hold her breath, giving herself time before she blurted
something about how Hudson needed to join the twenty-first century. He seemed to have forgotten she’d already said no to his proposal. When she began to feel faint, she exhaled. “Hudson…” Pick your battles, girl. “What about Reverend Campbell bothers you?”
“Those types, destitute and looking for handouts, have ways of causing problems. And you can’t start giving them handouts, or they’ll always come back for more.”
Amalia closed her eyes and counted slowly to five. She reminded herself of Hudson’s better side. He could be a generous benefactor when he chose, but he preferred to direct his money. Amalia supported the medical mission in Nehrangestan, but until now it had remained faceless and voiceless, a distant thing she’d written a check for as her Christian duty. Merit Campbell’s shaggy mop of hair, deep tan, and warm touch left a lingering impression.
She opened her eyes. “Reverend Campbell didn’t ask for anything. He merely wanted to know more about his late great uncle.”
“Next thing you know, New Life will put on some kind of gala in his honor to raise money for foreigners whose own countries cheat them out of education and work opportunities. You mark my words. He’s not getting any of my money. Nor will he be allowed to even hint at any irregularities in the disbursement of his late uncle’s estate.”
“Hudson, I’m a little tired,” she said. “I’ll say good night.”
“Don’t forget we have the Funeral Society annual banquet tomorrow. I’ll pick you up early, at five o’clock.”
Amalia chided herself for her childish desire to wash her ears after Hudson hung up. She decided to avoid the subject of marriage for now. He was welcome to his delusions.
While she had been preoccupied with caring for her parents, Amalia hadn’t minded the lack of a carefree social life outside of the business, and Hudson, and the occasional girls’ night out with her girlfriends. Now she wondered what it would be like to be swept off her feet and passionately in love. Unless Hudson had a personality change and pierced his ear, she doubted he had much passion inside.
The Last Detail Page 4